Alright, listen up! Here’s how this battle unfolds. It’s two heavyweights of the underground scene throwing down, and neither is gonna back down. Round 1 kicks off. Gaoran Wonsawatto stands quiet and calm, his eyes locked on Agito, the Fang of Metsudo. The ring’s electric, and he knows it. He’s mastered that flicker jab so sharp it could slice a mountain. With a flick of his wrist, he launches a barrage, FLASH! The jabs are like lightning, and he’s aiming to rip through Agito’s defenses before Agito even knows what hit him. But Agito ain’t no slouch either. He smirks, soaking up the storm of punches as if they’re nothing. His ability to adapt—the Evolution—kicks in. He reads the jabs, learns the rhythm, the timing, like a maestro tuning an orchestra. Each jab's a note, and he's composing his counter. As they dance, the crowd’s on fire. Gaoran’s footwork is slick, moving in and out, sidestepping with the grace of a serpent. But Agito shifts like water, always finding a way to get inside those defenses. He knows he must survive the onslaught to learn, to adapt his Formless style to match Gaoran’s. Gaoran feels a flicker of frustration. “This guy's tougher than I thought,” he thinks. His flicker jabs are supposed to dominate, but the more he hits, the more Agito smiles. That grin’s infuriating; it tells Gaoran he's studying him, learning every twitch and move of his form. The calm facade is cracking, and he knows he needs to finish this quickly. Round 2 cranks up a notch. Agito starts to weave through Gaoran’s jabs, using his precognition to anticipate. He tastes the air, feeling the shift in the tide. With a barrage of his own, he’s landing body shots that thud like sledgehammers. You sharp right catches Gaoran in the ribs, and he breathes shallowly for a second. The prodigy’s not invincible. “Not bad,” Gaoran grunts, shaking it off. Sweat glistens on his brow. He switches to God Glow, unleashing a powerful cross. It’s like a comet burning through the night. But Agito’s already readied for it with his own sudden movement. He’s learned, adapted, and that cross goes wide as Agito feints to the side. Then it happens: Agito’s evolved under pressure. With every punch Gaoran throws, he absorbs and counters. The tables are turning; his counter-punches are precise and calculated. Agito launches a series of hooks that finds a home on Gaoran's chin. The crowd erupts as Gaoran stumbles, feeling the sting of the impact. “Guess I underestimated you,” he thinks, wiping blood from his mouth. This battle's becoming personal. He can't let this end in defeat. The fierce determination in his heart ignites. The calm facade is gone; now it’s just raw instinct taking over. Round 3 feels different. The fighters circle each other, eyes locked in a deadly focus. Gaoran digs deep, waiting for the perfect moment. Agito, ever calculating, knows another blow can change the outcome. He steps in, eager to press his advantage. Both are champions in their own right. Gaoran unleashes everything he’s got in that final rush, a flurry of strikes—the FLASH intermingled with thrusts, suddenly turning the tables. But Agito smiles broader than ever, adapting with each move. The primal dance of combat is at its peak. With a final exchange, it’s a raw clash of strength and speed. Gaoran readies for the finish; Agito prepares his counter. Every punch, every step, every breath is elevated to the brink of destruction. In this brutal ballet, it’s clear: The winner will not only take this match but claim dominance in the underground arena. The outcome hangs in the balance, but both fighters know it’s far from over. The crowd holds its breath, and the warriors push toward their breaking points. Who’s gonna take home the glory? Only the gods of war can decide that! And now, folks, we await the final verdict!